C.J. shouts from the corner of the bar as my eyes squint to adjust to the dungeon-like lighting of Lost Dog. C.J. is sitting with a few guys I don’t know, but I easily spot Bo’s broad-shouldered torso hunched over the bar. I’ve never seen Bo drunk before; it’s sad. His forehead rests on a clenched fist, while he grips a short glass with the other. “Thanks for texting me, Ceej,” I mumble. “No problem. His pissing and moaning over you was a major buzz kill.” C.J. and his friends laugh at his joke. I roll my eyes and cautiously place my hand on the small of Bo’s back. The gesture startles him, as if I’ve woken him up from a deep sleep. He whips around to face me. Hollowness has filled his eyes and his paleness makes me worried that he’ll throw up—there’s no way I can leave him alone at Regan’s. “The hell are you doing here?” He slurs as he cocks his head back.
